66'33"

I've been gone so long I thought I'd never touch blogging again. So long that the kids are all grown and gone, some of them married, and Andrew and I spend our time traveling and enjoying life just the two of us. We live in the same house in Anchorage and he's built up his business in the decade since I've last written. I've taken up watercolor, oil painting, and urban sketching and play the harp while planning our next travel adventure. 

In January my brother Luke took me camping above the Arctic Circle. We left Anchorage early Monday morning and drove north, passing Denali and following the pipeline to Nenana and then the Yukon River.

We camped for the night while wolves howled outside the tent and the northern lights blazed above us. In the morning there was a sun dog around the moon as we struck camp and drove 600 miles back to Anchorage. The video is on his YouTube channel

Talkeetna, Alaska--the Top of the World

Long time, no see? Well today--most glorious of days--is the First Day of School which means I have time to take a shower without being interrupted. I can finally eat breakfast sitting down and possibly find some time to do a bit of writing here and there.

We've had a nice summer--Grace worked for the Parks and Rec department again. She now has a motor scooter (I should post pictures) and I even have a new nephew.

The men took a 50+ mile kayak trip on Lake Louise, they also hiked to Gull Rock and I've been reading lots of great books while they're out sleeping in their tents.  And today--officially--Grace is a senior, Spencer a freshman, David hits middle school and Lillian is in fourth grade. Zowee! Time flies!

In celebration of the event we spent Sunday night at my parents' cabin and Monday morning we drove into Talkeetna--that coolest of cool Alaskan cities where climbers start their journey up Denali.

There are probably more airplanes in town than cars--in fact, I'd be willing to bet money on it--because that's where people go to either take flight tours of the mountain or to fly to base camp for the climb. 

Did you realize that Denali (Mt. McKinley) is not only the tallest mountain in North America but it is also taller than Everest? At least in overall height.  Everest sits in its boosted grandeur on the Tibetan plateau so it's got a cheater advantage. Denali is taller from base to summit and has a bigger bulk. Take that Tibet.

We started our day with a hike around Y Lake--which is, of course, in between X and Z Lakes. As if you had to ask.  And no, I'm not making that up.  Andrew and I went to Talkeenta for our anniversary back in June (happy 19 years!) and we read up on the hikes that might be good for a family trip and this one was at the top of the list for a good reason. 

It's an easy 3 mile hike around the lake, completely flat at the beginning and at the end, with a slight rise around the far side, but beautifully wooded with lake views as you clump along.  Not only that, but we brought our buckets and picked high bush cranberries along the way which were in such abundance that the kids of course began to throw them at each other and I finally had to break it up with a "If I catch you throwing any more of those at your brother I'm going to leave you here to walk back to Anchorage! Do you hear me? Do you?"

To get there take the Parks Highway to Talkeetna Spurr Road, then take a right on Comsat Road and you'll see the turnoff and parking a hundred yards or so farther on the right. There are outhouses and a small parking lot though you can also drive a little farther in along the trail if you need to.

Beaver dams, moose tracks (though we saw no moose), lots of birds and sunshine--we had all the elements for a great hike.  And for those of you interested in trying it for yourself, there are two docks with public use canoes--one on either side of the lake--so bring your paddles and PFDs and enjoy time on the water as well.

Once we'd made it around the lake with our berries in tact we headed toward town. Back on Talkeenta Spurr Road heading north you come around a bend in the road and there . . . BAM!!!!

You see it--The Mountain.

Of course on a clear day you can see Denali from Anchorage, but you forget how big it really is and 100 miles closer it is truly amazing. Denali is the one in the middle and to the left is Mt. Foraker, also an amazing peak. In fact, it's hard for me to think much about mountains like Ranier and such when you've got gals like these nearby.  I hope that doesn't sound too snotty because I'm sure those other mountains are very nice too. Very.

There is a turnoff just there at the bend where you can pull off and take pictures (as you see here--and even on a Monday afternoon in August you can see that there are going to be tourists--and this picture only has a few of those who were there).  Andrew let me grab a picture for you good folks and then we were off again.

We drove on into Talkeetna proper, parking downtown (heh--"downtown") which is made up of a park slightly smaller than a football field with a covered picnic area and a few picnic benches and about 20 parking spots around the perimeter. One hundred yards or so down main street we stopped for lunch at Mile High Pizza for a gorgeous lunch on the covered terrace where live music serenaded us while we munched great food.  It really could not have been a better afternoon.

You can definitely tell who is local and who is from out of town.  Out of town? Look for older, graying, slightly portly (isn't that the nice way to put it?), windbreakers and camera equipment. Local? That would be those with tie-dye t-shirts, dreadlocks, dusty flip flops and a general air of waiting until September to worry about a shower. Although, in my post-hiking condition you can probably see how a casual observer might wonder about my own most recent attempt at personal hygiene.  I'm just trying to fit in and hang with the locals.

Anyone with expensive sunglasses?  Tourist for sure. Anyone on a four wheeler? Definitely a local. You get your fishing guides, your restaurant workers and the summer employees with Princess cruises and the Alaska Railroad there and everyone is really friendly, especially considering that their town gets completed invaded every June to August with retirees who have dreamed of seeing Alaska. You really couldn't get a greater difference between natives and visitors than you get in Talkeetna.

But as for us, we packaged our leftover pizza and headed for the river where we could walk across the bridge (dodging locals on four-wheelers carrying supplies to their cabins in the back woods) and watch the fishing boats go up and down the river. 

A very, very good day and for the kids it nearly made up for the fact that the next day was school. 

Wow--now I'll have to see about writing another post.  Who knows where this could end?

Deep into January

As I sit here at the computer I can hear the grinding groan of the snow ploughs in the street--the snow has been piled up deep enough on the sides of the road that it's making it hard to get around so the ploughs come along, scrape the snow from the sides into one big three-foot berm down the middle of the road, then a front-end loader comes along and scoops up the row of snow into the waiting dump truck.

They haul it off and dump it in spots around town, creating ramps of snow up the sides of the piles for the dump trucks to crawl up and unload, until the mountains grow so high they're as big as three-story buildings.  As spring comes they melt and all the dirt mixed into the snow remains behind, settling on top until the piles look like mountains of gravel and you'd never guess that under that gigantic mass there is enough snow to cover the state of Rhode Island (which isn't much of an exaggeration--there are glaciers around here that could easily cover the place). The last of the piles finally melt some time around the end of June.

I just took this picture out of the front window and it's about 10 o'clock here--still dusky and dim but clear and cold.  My thermometer is reading -3 degrees and Spencer is concerned about his ski meet tomorrow.  He's concerned two ways: unless things warm up to -1 they'll cancel the race.  It's the first meet of the season and he's ready to get out there so he doesn't want it scrapped but the thought of skiing in -1 is a bit more than he wants to tackle.  Either way, canceled race or not, he's going to have a tough time of it.

January is hitting hard.  We're in a cold snap and it's so dark and deep that I'm wondering why I ever decided to live here.  My toes and fingers are perpetual icicles and I sleep with five blankets on the bed.  I've put off going out to the mailbox for four days now--and when I finally went out this morning the box was covered with an inch of standing crystals and my finger froze to the metal when I lifted the lid. And as I was driving home yesterday the sun caught the ice crystals suspended in the frigid air and treated them just as if they were raindrops, making a shimmering, disturbingly cold rainbow of ice in the air above me.

But I've been promised by reputable sources that things should get better. We gained 4 minutes, 32 seconds of daylight over yesterday and January is the low point in the season--it's all downhill from here and if I can only make it to April I'll be home free.

Meanwhile, I've got my flowers inside and enough hot chocolate to last to spring.  If I can only remember to think warm thoughts.

Welcome 2011

Finally I'm back at the keyboard after a wonderful Christmas where we were so relaxed and laid-back that we ended up having Christmas dinner buffet-style in front of the television.  If you knew us you'd realize how crazy that is--we always eat at the table and TV is never part of the ambiance but it felt so good to do something different and relaxing after all those wonderful parties and dinners and get-togethers. (If that's how we go crazy around here we're pretty pathetic, huh?) And it felt good.

Then for New Year's Eve we went north.  After nearly a month of temperatures hovering around zero things decided to warm up here in Anchorage with one of our random bursts of warm air from Hawaii so we escaped north to my parents' cabin where it was a perfectly balmy 30 degrees. Perfect for snowmachining and perfect for fireworks.

Thirty degrees and plenty of snow as you can see from the picture where Andrew is snow-blowing out a path to the well so we can rev up the water pump (you can see the sun getting close to setting and it was only about 2pm or so). David followed behind him with a cinnamon roll, faithfully feeding his father every few steps whenever the man got too famished and weak to go any farther.

Must . . . have . . . cinnamon . . . roll . . .

Then that night we brought out the fireworks.  It's such a novelty to have fireworks you can actually see--normally our Independence Day fireworks are at midnight or 1am because it's too bright to see them--and even then it's only rather dusky.  But for New Year's Eve we could have started the fireworks at 4 o'clock and watched them just fine.

We waited until about 7pm before loading up the sled and setting up shop in the yard--you can see Andrew and the kids standing in the plowed-out trenches and lighting up roman candles by the aid of the shop light. 

With it so warm even I ventured out of the protection of the cabin to watch up close as they lit things up.  Anchorage has an ordinance against fireworks in the city so as long as I can remember we've had to get out of town if we want a show.  But this year they lifted the ban just for the holiday and things were popping up everywhere.

Last year we had a lunar eclipse on a blue moon for New Year's Eve and I wondered if it could be taken as a good omen for 2010. Now, looking back, even though things were shaky for the first six months it turns out that our little blue moon eclipse ended up being a pretty good indicator of the good things that eventually came our way.

It's funny how things can be going so badly but it doesn't take too long once the stress is removed for you to forget all about the negatives and remember (mostly) the positives.  I'm kind of glad our brains are like that.

With fireworks and fun and such a wonderful holiday season I'm hoping that 2011 is even better.  I'm going to turn 41 and I'm going to finish the rewrite on my book. I'm going to practice until I can do at least one honest-to-goodness push-up and I'm going to get my knee fixed/strong enough so I can run barefoot again.

I'm going to plan/save for our last official family vacation before Grace leaves for college.  I think I may also spend some time brushing up on my French after so many years of neglect.  I'm going to finish reading the Bible (I'm plodding through Deuteronomy right now) along with Thomas Friedman's The World Is Flat (so far Deuteronomy is better), Anya Seton's My Theodosia and Bill Bryson's A Brief History of Nearly Everything. Plus a few more in there.

Or maybe I'll get completely wild and crazy and make this . . .



And--oh yea--I'm going to do some blogging. What are your plans?

Popping In

I hadn't planned on posting yet but I thought this was sweet enough to warrant some notice. Made by students in Quinhagak (pronounced QUINNA-hawk) it's fun to watch and reminds you that Christmas is everywhere.Andrew's been to Quinhagak and it's a village like many others in Alaska. I imagine they used every person in the village to make the video.

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Also, congratulations to Gretchen at Lifenut who has won the T20 Single Serve Brewer giveaway from last week. Here's hoping she's nice and warm all winter.

How to Cut Your Own Christmas Tree

(and still have a Merry Christmas)

It's been a tradition ever since my Dad was little; we cut our trees. In the wild.

Back in the 40s and 50s Grandma and Grandpa would bundle up the family in search of the perfect tree but once my Dad and Uncle Jim were old enough (back then that could have been around 11 or 12, who knows?) they were assigned the manly task of getting the tree.  Dad tells the story of one particular year while, as a teen, he was out searching for a tree with his younger brother and once they were way out in the middle of the wilderness with nothing but lots of snow and a large handsaw between them he turned to Jim and said in his wickedest voice, "You know . . . Mom and Dad sent me out here to kill you."

Yes, that's our family and the Christmas spirit. As a kid I thought the story hysterical. Now, as a mother I think it's an abomination, but what can you do? 

Normally we go tree hunting on a school day so the kids have the added thrill of missing a day of class but this year we've already had three "snow" days (and I put it in quotes because it wasn't for snow but rather freezing rain and black ice) and a round of flu, ergo missing more days seemed a little irresponsible this year.  So . . . Saturday we had our traditional IHOP binge, complete with a round of country-fried steak for my little cholesterol inebriates, and it was off to find the perfect tree.

You never know what you're going to get. Sometimes you get a year with no snow so it's easier to find a tree when everything is bare and snow-less but harder to drag it out over the ground without denuding it of its needles.  Sometimes you get a blizzard where, after ten minutes, you're practically entombed in drifted snow so that you don't care and end up taking the first tree in sight . . . as soon as someone digs you out. Once we went and the ground wasn't even frozen, let alone covered with snow, and my overeager husband four-wheeled it into the back country until we practically plummeted to our deaths over a ravine but then got the truck so stuck we had to cut down trees just to back it up and get out.  Good times.

This year I was prepared for a tough time of it.  As in: make sure you bring the snow shoes because we'd had so much snow--and whatever we have in Anchorage is sure to be doubled up at Johnson's Pass where we go to cut.  I was really expecting it to be a bear of a time (without the bears--they're hibernating of course) and thought how glad I was that this was a man's job.  Andrew cuts and carries, I decorate. It's a simple division of duties that has suited me well over the years.

But Andrew and the kids hadn't been gone five minutes; in fact, some of the stragglers were still visible from the road, when Andrew had got to the spot, found the tree and harvested.  Just like that.  Or I should say that Spencer harvested the tree as he did the actual cutting and hauling. Andrew tells me he's training Spencer to take over the job so he can finally pass that torch.

So after an hour for breakfast, an hour and a quarter of driving in, and an hour and a quarter of driving out and we were only gone a total of four--count them four--hours and most of the extra time was for tying the tree to the top of the car.  We are nothing, if not efficient.

And here's our beauty, decorated and vertical in the living room.  My man knows how to pick 'em.

When I was a kid my favorite ornament on the tree was a little bird in a nest that attached to the tree limb with a clothespin glued to the bottom of the nest. It was a partridge in a pear tree and we all experienced the true meaning of the season as the six of us fought and bickered about who got to put it on the tree each year.  I don't know how my mom stood it without throwing us into the snowbank and abandoning us to the elements.

Remembering how much I loved that ornament I made one of our own this year and it turned out so sweet and cute. You really can't get much easier than gluing a fake bird in a fake nest with a clothespin on the bottom.  It's crafting that even the most craft-challenged can handle and it looks so pretty--just see for yourself. I don't think ours is a bona-fide partridge--more of a chickadee perhaps--but it's still very pretty. One time we found a real bird's nest in our tree when we got the tree home and dried out in the stand, other years we might get only a lot of moose hair tangled in the branches but it's all part of the experience. Merry Christmas!

Good Stuff Coming: Teen Underground

Big, BIG news! Our local Z.J. Loussac Library, with the help of the Anchorage Rotary Club (Downtown), is creating a special area at the library just for teens and they held a contest this past month to create a logo for the newly christened Teen Underground project. Spencer, with his new little Mac Mini and his crazy Illustrator skills decided to throw his hat into the ring . . . and he won!

The prize is an iPad but I think the thrill of winning is nearly as mind blowing as the electronics.  He was thrilled not only that he won but that the judges were so complimentary and kind in their praise, one of them even offering to mentor him (which I think is probably the biggest prize of all).

Anyway, it was all a terribly potent and explosive secret to try and keep but today at the club luncheon they unveiled it all and I can officially let that cat out of the bag.  And actually, that experience was wonderful in itself.  I'd never been to a Rotary meeting before and it was impressive to see so many people in the community coming together to take a project like this to fruition so that their city and the up-and-coming generation benefits.

Afterward we told Spencer that he'd probably never be in another place with 250 more powerful people (unless he happens to get an invite to a presidential inauguration or something). In the crowd was our lieutenant governor, our past mayor, current legislators and business owners of some of the most influential businesses in town. It was fun to see Spencer get a round of applause from such a distinguished crowd (and he loved the prime rib). They'll be doing a big spread in the newspaper about it so there will even be more fame coming. Hope it doesn't go to his head.

It all got me rather jazzed about the project--I mean, we are at the library at least once a week as it is but after seeing the floor plan for the new area and all the teen-centered amenities it offers I can't help but get excited and think about how it's going to be a great thing for Anchorage. Already the donations have been generous. Gosh, I live in a great place.

It also was gratifying to feel that our decision to let Spencer buy a computer wasn't insane after all.  He still doesn't really have internet access except to about four or five websites and doesn't play games but once Andrew installed some extra copies of Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop Spencer's been busy doing online tutorials to learn the software. If you don't know already, Lynda.com is a wonderful site for online tutorials on all sorts of subjects and well worth the small subscription fee.

It seems that with all the current time-wasting associated with computers that to have our son learning a valuable skill at minimal cost thrills me to the core.  Isn't this is the essence of what technology is supposed to offer? Isn't this kind of thing that the computer was invented to provide? Education without restrictions of location, age, experience or economics? I suppose that's what the Teen Underground project is ultimately trying to do for other kids out there and it's exciting.

Can you imagine such a thing 50 years ago?  Crazy. We live in an amazing time.

Small Sidenote

Why can't Alaskan politics just creep quietly under the rug? Why must we still find the national spotlight?  I've never been so frustrated at an election in my life. I'm supposed to get out there and vote and I'm putting it off to the last minute because I can't find anything good to vote for.

Here in Alaska we have the choice to vote for:

A) The small town Democrat mayor who has pretty much said in his ads he wants to spend as much money as possible but then the good news is he probably won't be able to because he'd get lost on his way to work if actually elected.  Yes, unelectable and expensive are the words there, folks.

B) The maniac right-wing Tea Partier who has grown shiftier and crazier as the campaign has progressed.  If he claimed that his opponent were in conspiracy with Martians I wouldn't be surprised anymore.

C) The nepotistic child who was given her senate seat by her daddy in a dirty move that doesn't sit well with me to this day. Too liberal to be legitimately called a Republican yet too smart to openly come out in Alaska as a Democrat, the media loves her and is desperately trying to get us to vote for her which continues to grate on me. Maybe she's the best option but I can't bring myself to agree.

So what is a decent, law-abiding, slightly conservative citizen to do? My religion tells me to get out and vote yet they refuse to tell me who to vote for.  I told Andrew if it were that important to vote then you'd think they'd give me more instructions.  I don't want any of the candidates in there and that's the truth.

So my probable strategy? Vote for the guy least likely to be able to accomplish anything. Less accomplished means less spent. Don't bad-mouth gridlock because at least if the guys in Washington are tied up, bickering, then they can't find the time to spend our money. Is it possible to create a new party based solely on the principle of gridlock?  Their slogan could be, "We'll be fighting all the time, we won't spend a dime!"

***

And here are what a few of the bloggers in my feeds had to say from their ends of the country/world.  Sounds like I'm not too alone.
Thank God It's Election Day
Call Me Evil
I Zip Across Party Lines Faster Than a Speeding Bullet
I Kissed (Partisan) Politics Goodbye

Creepy Crawlies

A friend of ours loaned us his aquatic bug collection and I can't decide if I'm more fascinated or disgusted.  I do know I was terrified of one of the kids dropping one of the vials. The only thing worse than a live beetle the size of a dump truck is a dead beetle the size of a dump--and dripping with formaldehyde.  Talk about night of the living dead.

Sand Dunes--Nature's Amusement Park

We're back! We went up to the valley for the weekend to my parents' cabin and spent three and a half glorious days relaxing. The kids rode around on the four-wheelers and shot the .22 and floated the river but me? I read. And read some more. I'm afraid that riding the four wheelers has so lost it's thrill for me--I spend my life in a car and the kids can't grasp that to spend my vacation time driving a vehicle is just not it. But I'm happy to let them have the chance. I spent my time instead puttering around the cabin, walking down to the river, gathering cranberries and willow branches and remembering why I love Alaska. So for now let's just say I'm rejuvenated a bit, ready to tackle life for at least another week or two.

But before we left town for the holiday I went to the sand dunes. If you recall, last week I wrote about our secret beach we'd discovered a couple of weeks ago and last week one of my friends took me back to Kincaid Park with our girls' group from church to discover something else that was just about as fun and thrilling/unexpected (apparently I've completely underrated Kincaid Park until now).

If you go to Kincaid and enter through the Dimond entrance you'll see the motorcross course (which is a treat in itself--it's beyond cool to see the bikes taking jumps and shooting fifteen feet in the air and doing their motorcross thing). Walking along around to the back of the course, you'll come to this large (as in BIG) hill and if you'll climb it not only will you be greeted with gorgeous views of the inlet and park but there's a surprise waiting for you at the top.

We got there just as the sun was dipping, as you can see from the above picture, but once we got to the top we saw that the other side of the hill is one huge sheer face of sand. We were above the trees with the cliff of sand below and the girls immediately took off their socks and shoes and stood there, staring over the side.

None of us exactly knew what they were supposed to do until Tammy explained it all.

"Jump off," she said. "The sand will catch you."

Of course no one really believed her and we kind of looked at her as if she were crazy but it didn't take long for Grace and the others to give it a try. They took a running start, jumped off the edge out into space and landed softly in the sand below.

That's all it took for them to get the picture and soon they were soaring off the edge and having a great time. The hardest part is climbing up the sand once you've landed, it's so soft and shifting, climbing up is a workout.

Over and over they jumped, running off together and by themselves and trying fun aerial stunts. Who needs an amusement park when you have the sand dunes?? I am definitely bringing the kids back, they're going to love it.

The Secret Beach

Earlier this summer Lillian went with a group of friends to Kincaid Park out on the west side of town and when she came back she talked about how she’d been to the beach.

Now I’ve lived here my whole life and I know darn well that there’s no such thing as a beach in Anchorage, Alaska. Never has been, never will be. Mudflats we have, marshes we’ve got in abundance but a beach? With sand?? Not quite.

So when she came back with this wild story I was highly suspicious but yet intrigued and after extensive interrogation of my youngest daughter I promised the kids that on the next sunny day we’d go and try to find this mysterious beach of which she spoke. But it turns out it was a promise easily made then forgotten because our wet and gray summer didn’t have another sunny day until the first day of school (which the kids thought was highly ironic and infuriating). Nothing but rain and clouds for two months and then, on the first day of school, out comes the sun. Apparently even the elements celebrated the event as much as I.

In fact it was sunny every day after that. Gorgeous, clear skies that seemed vaguely familiar after all those days of rain and I decided that after dinner on Monday night we’d take advantage of the weather and do something wild and crazy--we'd go outside. Andrew came home a little early, we ate dinner as ravenously as wolves around a carcass then jumped in the car to find that pot of gold.

Once parked and out of the car we were a little unsure of where to go. We were, after all, following the directions of an eight year-old, and after wandering around the Frisbee golf course, tramping through the bushes and up, around and over hills for 20 minutes we finally found the trail that seemed to be vaguely leading west toward the water. We could see the inlet out there, it was shining with the evening sun but how to get there still seemed a bit of a mystery.

We walked for half an hour—Andrew figures it was about a mile—until finally Lillian said, “This is it!” and pointed to a winding dirt path leading off into the bushes. Andrew and I looked at each other skeptically and then at Lillian.

“Are you sure this is it?”

“Yup! It’s here. Follow me.”

She lead us into the vegetation, the cow parsnip and alders and willows so thick along the way that they grew up on either side to meet overhead in the middle with barely enough height for us to stand upright. Once on the path a random cloud blew in and began to drop water and I couldn’t help thinking we’d got ourselves into some horrible mistake. Forget about the bears and moose and other wildlife that would be happy to nibble or trample one of us, there’s nothing like rain to make a trip miserable and nasty.

But as we winded along single file the drops hit the leaves above us and nothing seemed to get through to us below. The rain picked up until the patter sounded like a large stream rippling over rocks and swirling in foam eddies overhead but we were always nice and dry below, following our intrepid daughter who still assured us that we were going the right way.

About the time I had the disturbing thought that I was insane--I was trusting our navigation to someone who had a hard time remembering to close the car door after herself let alone one who could remember a trail taken nearly two months earlier--along comes a guy on a bike. How he got his bike through the bushes I’m not quite sure but there he was, coming toward us through the underbrush.

“Keep going,” he said in a great, thick Latino accent. “You’re almost there.”

How he knew where we were going he never explained but somehow his encouragement was just what we needed and we perked up, ready to follow the trail to the bitter end if necessary. The kids picked up on his words and we all kept repeating his accent and words to each other as we joked and laughed with sudden hope.

And then, suddenly, we were there. We came out of the brush and were on the top of a sandy cliff with tall grasses swaying in the breeze. The clouds were gone and the sun covered everything around us—from the trail leading down to the beach below where the tide was slowly reclaiming the sand to Mount Susitna across the inlet.

It was tricky getting down the steep, sandy slope but once on the beach it didn’t matter that it was only about 68 degrees, the kids stripped off their shoes and socks and went for the water (assuring us that it was “really warm” while Andrew and I walked along the shore and I looked for beach glass.

I’ve lived in Anchorage my whole life and had no idea that this place existed, had no idea that there was something so beautiful and between the joy of the discovery, the warmth of the evening and the fun at being together in the sand we had the best hour of the whole summer.

When we finally had to head home—there was a least a mile and a half of hiking between us and the car—we were swearing to ourselves that we’d be back right away and the kids kept saying how it was the best family night we’d ever had.

Funny how a beach can do that for you.

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Hiking to Gull Rock

My husband likes hiking—he has this thing for dehydrating food, finding smaller and lighter camping gear and in his spare time likes to look through books on Alaskan trails so he can plan dream treks on mountain passes.

Across Cook Inlet from Anchorage, only about ten miles as the crow flies, is Point Hope. However, unless you happen to be a crow, to get there you’ll have to drive south around the rim of the inlet, along Turnagain Arm, following the road until you make a near circle and look back at the city.

Once you get to Hope you can park in the lot, saddle up your packs and hike fives miles to the coast where Gull Rock sits, sticking up like a gigantic turtle sleeping off shore where it absorbs the same battery of wind and waves it has for the past few millennia.

It’s not a hard hike—the trail is flat and well-marked—the five miles is well within a beginning hiker’s abilities and for years Andrew has wanted to make the journey with the kids. When Lillian was a toddler we took a family picnic and started down the trail, wondering how far we could get before the kids’ legs gave out (I ended up carrying Lillian on my back like a monkey for the last couple miles) but we couldn’t quite make it to the end.

Later Andrew planned day hikes with the boys but for one reason or another Gull Rock just never seemed to take shape until this summer when Andrew was put in charge of the teen boys at church and expected to plan activities designed to turn them into men—or at least get them started along their way.

He decided almost immediately that hiking to Gull Rock to spend the night would be the ideal trip and it was planned that they’d do it this past weekend. As it drew closer he worked on preparing the team that included David and Spencer: they had a night where they dehydrated sausage and made up bags of powdered potatoes and eggs with visions of instant hot, steaming breakfasts on the trail where the bliss of nature was too much to even allow them to stop long enough to make a fire.

But as I mentioned yesterday we’ve had an unusually wet summer—28 straight days of rain and counting—and the day of the hike wasn’t any different. Low, foggy mists and dark gray clouds were constantly moving along the inlet long enough to dump their rain before going on and making room for the next system.

Hiking in Alaska isn’t like other places—you travel in groups to avoid bear encounters, bathe in mosquito repellent, dress in layers and bring plenty of rain gear—and it’s just common practice to take hypothermia in July very, very seriously. But as the group started they were completely unprepared.

One of the boys showed up in shorts and fancy tennis shoes without laces (all the latest style I'm sure). One hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch and had only packed “six pizza bites” for his dinner. All but one had adequate rain gear and the rest watched their ponchos and rain pants shred as the rain drizzled down and the mud climbed higher and higher up their legs.

You know how it is when you’re on a tough trip—for some reason you always think that you’ve gone farther than you really have—so when the group had hiked for a couple hours or so they figured they must be getting close to their destination. After all, Andrew reasoned, for years he’d been jogging long distances in respectable amounts of time so surely in an hour he’d have come pretty far.

As they all began wondering how much farther Gull Rock could be, down the trail at them came a pack of cross country high school runners. They’ll some times do that for training—run in tough terrain or up a mountain—and today’s training had been to run five miles to Gull Rock and then back again. In the rain. Not only were my guys completely impressed by these half-naked, muddied super-humans, they figured they’d now be able to get a good fix on their position.

“How far are we from the rock?” Andrew asked the coach, imagining they were fifteen minutes to half an hour away at most.

Looking at his GPS the coach calculated and said, “Oh, you’re about two miles away—and be careful, it’s really windy at the point.”

I can imagine their frustration at the news but the group went on so they could pitch camp for the night there at the rock and get something to eat as planned. Their shoes were soaked through, their rain gear in shreds, their back packs too heavy and between the rain on the outside and the sweat on the inside they were starting to get cold.

Most everyone’s packs were way too heavy but as soon as they would stop for a rest the chills would set in with the youngest boys and they’d need to keep moving. After another hour the nagging thought came that even if they made it the whole muddy five miles who was to say that they’d be able to get a fire started? With the wind blasting it was doubtful they’d be able to get the tents up or start a fire and as wet as they all were it wouldn’t take much wind to make hypothermia a legitimate possibility.

So to bring my story to an end they hiked nearly the whole way to Gull Rock before deciding to turn back. They were in a miserable condition but the certainty of returning to safety versus the dangers of facing the elements on the point won out so they ate what snacks they had ready and turned back.

Being nearly five miles out they knew exactly how far it was to get back to the cars and they set themselves to the job of making it the whole dismal way. They had left town at 2pm and by 11pm I got a call from Andrew telling me that they’d made it back to the cars and were coming home, expect them in a couple hours.

When they finally made it back they limped into bed—Spencer first taking a hot shower to heat his core. I waited until the next morning to get the whole story and after I heard it all out it was with that sense of relief at danger long since passed but with those remnants of anxiety we moms tend to feel whenever our kids are doing anything we can’t control.

“My muscles are so sore!” David said, pointing to where his pack had worn into his shoulders.

“I was so cold,” said Spencer, remembering how he eventually threw away his useless rain gear in disgust along the trail.

“I don’t understand why my legs are so tired right here,” Andrew said, pointing to his outer quadriceps.

And then it kind of hit me—while I was completely sympathetic with their ordeal I couldn’t help but give an ironic smile.

“What?” said Andrew.

“Well, I was watching this documentary about settling the west and it talked about how people walked from Missouri to California. It took them about five months and they had to do it quickly because the trip had to be finished before the snows hit.

“I just realized that while I’m sure you are wiped out from yesterday’s adventure if you were a pioneer not only would you have walked double the distance but you'd have done it without nice hiking shoes, Gortex or healthy meal packets. Then you’d have got up today, without the benefit of a shower, Spencer, and done it all over again. And then again tomorrow, and then again, and again. Five months of walking and getting sunburned, hot, dehydrated. Of running the risk of cholera if you did find water, and then having no nice house at the end of the trip. Just more uncharted territory.”

They were quiet at this—perhaps it wasn’t the most empathetic thing to say though I really did have my sympathies for their sufferings—and I finished off lamely with, “You know what? If we’d have all been pioneers we would have all completely stunk at it. “

“You think we’re soft?”

“I think we’re all soft. I know you run seven and eight miles a day and go fast and are in good shape but that’s not quite the same thing. You do it with your fancy running gear on nice, flat, specially-designed tracks and trails then feed yourself a healthy diet designed to build your endurance and muscle mass. You get enough rest in an actual bed and have aspirin if you get a sore muscle. You have special exercises to keep your knees and joints fit and you rest when you’ve pushed it too hard. And you're in good shape! Think of what I'd do on the trail."

“I’m sure Olympic rowers are impressive and lean but I can picture galley slaves rowing Roman vessels for 16 hours a day under a whip then sleeping at the oars until they do it again if they’re lucky enough to have lived through the day. Talk about your muscles.

“The point is, what kind of a weird society do we live in where for recreation we have to invent strenuous physical activity, playing at being pioneers, when 100 years ago it all would have been classified simply as survival? It's all very odd if you think about it.

“Yes, I do think it’s safe to say we’re wimps . . . and I’m very glad you’re safe.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” he said.

But he still wants to hike the whole way to Gull Rock some day and I don’t blame him. I’d like to get there too someday. With all my Goretex and fancy gear, thank you very much.

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Fly Fishing and McHugh Creek

I spent too much time last night practicing fly fishing to get a real post written. With the evening sun on my back and a beautiful four-weight rod in my hand, the ten-o'clock-two-o'clock rhythm had my arm clicking back and forth until an hour and a half later I was wishing I had another hour and a half to spare.

You should have seen it, I had the leader floating back over my head in a very respectable horizontal snap then sailing out of a lovely loop to land before me in the imaginary stream flowing through the parking lot. It was beautiful I tell you. That tug on the line as it sailed backward and knowing that I had the rhythm just right was a great feeling.

One of the instructors was showing me the effortless art of his double haul cast and I told Andrew that if I'd had the time I'd probably have stayed there for years to practice until I could do it too, it was that addicting. I've seen just enough fly fishing to appreciate the skill it takes--it's a combination of art, nature and physics where your mind is loose enough to reach a state of concentration and rhythm that simultaneously tunes out the world yet makes you aware of every detail of motion.

I could very much enjoy it if I could be guaranteed to stay warm (that's my absolute standard for any outdoor activity--if I freeze I'm miserable) and if I didn't have to touch any fish. Do they have fly fishing in Hawaii?

So I'll leave you with some pictures of a recent family outing to McHugh Creek just south of the city. After dinner we took the kids out for a little hike and the spot is always good for some pretty scenery--though it does make me nervous to go too far back there with all the bears.

When I was young we used to go there on picnics and we kids called it The Enchanted Forest. Corny, I know, but it's always so green, fragrant and misty and with all the appropriate mushrooms and moss that the name seemed appropriate, if not original, and my children seem to like the spot as much as I did when I was their age.

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